


Teenagers

by kingpeacock



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/F, M/M, domestic life, shameless fluff, we have a kid au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingpeacock/pseuds/kingpeacock
Summary: Henry, Arthur and Eames’ son, goes on his first date. One of his parents is paranoid, worried and can't sit still with concern for his son. The other is Eames.





	Teenagers

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the My Chemical Romance song of the same name.

Arthur was pouting. Almost pouting, in fairness, though Eames wasn't feeling entirely fair at that moment. He watched Arthur pace across the living room, glancing both at his watch and out of the window by turns and huffing occasionally. “Arthur, like it or not, your precious fils is on a date. With a girl. Who's going to come here and find out that Henry has two Dads,” Eames explained for what seemed like the thousandth time that evening. 

“It's not like it's that common. Can't you hide and...” Arthur began, gesticulating wildly to try and act out his words in some strange charade rather than say them aloud.

“Oh, I'll hide and you can pretend that your wife is in the bath or shagging the neighbour or painting her nails. Arthur,” Eames replied, irritated now, “This is happening. We are married, and Henry has two parents who care about him and that is all that matters.”

Arthur sighed and shrugged his agreement, to which Eames visibly relaxed back into the sofa. He picked up the paper and continued reading, noting, with a small grin, how on edge Arthur was. “What's this 'Emily' like?” he asked after a few minutes of nervous fidgeting and straightening of the throw over the sofa, which must have been straightened out more in the last hour than it had in the five years it had belonged there.

“No idea. Tall and brunette was about all I got out of Henry on his way out,” Eames said, not looking up from the article about military manoeuvres in the second world war which he was hurriedly reading through to occupy himself. He wished that Arthur would pick something up to occupy his own mind. “I'm sure she's lovely.”

“She'd better be,” came the reply quickly after Eames had finished speaking. Eames rolled his eyes, smiling gently without looking up. “Where's he taking her?”

“Out? I don't know, probably to the cinema and-” Eames nearly jumped out of his skin when Arthur stood unexpectedly and paced to the door, peering out of the window beside the front door into the house. He tapped his foot impatiently.

“Cinema means making out. Making out can lead to... Well...”

“Arthur, he's sixteen. Not four. He's also got parents who are sensible and had the conversation with him about the birds and the bees,” Eames replied, lowering his paper to look at Arthur. That had been a memorable dinner. Arthur's idea of sex education was telling Henry 'You're never having sex because if you get a girl pregnant I will kill you.' Henry had been too terrified to even mention a girl for about three weeks afterwards.

“Well, your idea of the talk.” Arthur was pouting again. Eames folded his paper up and crossed his arms, amusement on his face and that grin that made Arthur want to shake him violently.

“Sit down,” Eames said, patting the cushion beside himself invitingly. “Relax; it's nine o'clock, so they'll be here by half past.” Arthur glared briefly, then took the proffered seat, hiding his pleasure at the way Eames put his arm around his shoulders. “Emily's Mum is giving them a lift home.”

“But can't you go and get him? What if she-”

“I'm sure Emily's mother won't want to kidnap our kid, Arthur,” Eames replied patiently, still reading the newspaper interestedly.

“No, of course not,” Arthur replied, shaking his head. Eames thought it was really sweet that Arthur was so worried about their son, but, this was taking it to new extremes. Arthur seemed to mellow slightly, watching the soap opera showing on the television with feigned interest. Eames could still feel the tension in his partner's body, but chose not to make a comment and went back to reading his paper one-handed after glancing at the television screen.

When the sound of voices and keys clinking together seeped through the front door, Arthur shot to his feet as though an electric shock had zapped through his body. Eames patiently folded his paper, plastering his most cheerful smile over his face as he got up and gently lead Arthur, who was preening in the mirror, away to stand by the front door.

Henry finally got the door open and walked in, looking at his parents who were standing on ceremony by the door, giving them a quizzical look. Behind him, clutching his hand like it was a lifeline, followed Emily, his date for this evening. She was a tiny girl, just shy of 5'2, with long brunette hair which was tied artfully in a messy bun, and great big grey-green eyes, carefully accented with grey make-up. She was wearing a flattering blue shirt with close-cut jeans and pixie boots, and was smiling almost as widely as Henry was at having this beautiful creature on his arm. “Emily, these are my dads. This is Arthur, and that's Eames.”

“It's lovely to meet you, Emily,” Eames said, shaking her hand warmly and smiling his most charming smile at her.

“Nice to meet both of you, finally,” Emily said, returning the smile and shaking Arthur's hand, who stayed silent and looked vaguely shell-shocked. “You're all that Hen ever talks about.”

“Really?” Arthur asked finally, voice slightly puzzled.

“For sure,” Emily replied, glancing at Henry who was going pink. “Can I just let my Mum in? She's sitting in the car, that's all,” she finished, pointing vaguely at the door.

Arthur started to speak, but Eames cut across him before he could hardly utter a syllable. “We'd love to meet her. Tea or coffee?” he said, pointedly ignoring the evil look at Arthur was giving him.

“We both love tea, thanks,” Emily said, giving Henry a peck on the cheek before running swiftly out of the house.

“Eames!” Arthur hissed, heading after Eames who was busying himself in the kitchen. 

“Arthur dear?” Eames replied, still grinning sardonically. 

“What-” Arthur took a deep breath, seeing the warning look from Eames. Arthur was never ashamed of their relationship; more often than not, whenever anyone had passed comment on their family group, it had been Arthur who'd leapt to it's defense. It was just that, occasionally, he was reminded that their family wasn't like most others. Eames had learnt to ignore Arthur's gut reaction at times like this, and force him into situations where it would be proven that people accepted that the 2.4 Children model of family life wasn't the only way of existing. “Coffee, please. Black.”

“Are you okay, pére? Your ears are a great colour,” Henry said smiling, hopping up onto one of the stools set at the breakfast bar. 

“Perfectly fine, Hen,” Arthur teased back, and they gave each other a knowing look before their attention was taken by Emily returning with her mother.

“Mum, this is Arthur and Eames, Henry's Dads,” she said, indicating the respective man as she said his name. Eames smiled broadly and gave a coy wave, while Arthur smiled and crossed the room to shake her hand.

“So lovely to meet you, Mrs Andrews,” he said, and she laughed.

“Miss, and please, call me Penelope,” she said, giggling slightly. “My wife'd laugh if she heard you calling me Mrs Andrews.” Arthur missed the last few words; he was in far too much shock.

“Oh yeah, pére, didn't I tell you? Emily's got two Moms,” Henry said, looking at Eames who had shoved a biscuit in his mouth to stop himself from roaring with laughter. They broke the eye contact before they made each other laugh too much at Arthur's expense. He still had it in him to make both their lives miserable.

Arthur, effortlessly cool and constantly composed, took a few moments to regain some composure before he said, “Well, Penelope, then our children are clearly well matched,” he said, touching her upper arm to concrete the sentiment into her mind.

“Tea's ready, whenever you lovely ladies and gentlemen are ready,” Eames said, a smile crinkling his eyes attractively.

*~*~*

“Why didn't you say something?” Eames looked up from his book, still wearing that irritating grin.

“Because Henry asked me not to.”

“And if he asked you to prance around in a pink tutu, declaring your undying love for candy, would you do that?”

Eames' smile turned slightly sad and sympathetic. “Oh, Arthur, that sounds more like something you'd ask me to do.”

Arthur half threw his shirt onto the washing pile in irritation from the comment. “Penelope and Emily seem nice, though,” he said, changing the subject completely so that Eames would stop grinning.

“They do. Emily and Henry seem quite enamoured with each other, don't they?” Eames asked, turning the page of his book irritatingly loudly. 

“Yeah,” Arthur said, climbing under the covers and fetching his own book from the bedside table. This domesticity had snuck up on both of them; moving to London when Henry was 11 so he could attend his place at Eton, buying a house together, getting a pair of cats and a practical car rather than a sporty model, getting a job which paid every month and attending school concerts and driving Henry to discos. It was all a far cry from the dream theft business, which was unpredictable at best, dangerous at worst, but the way it had crept into their lives occasionally scared him. It had come so incredibly slowly, gently, until it was just life and not someone elses life.

He just had no intention of telling Eames and his shit-eating grin that. “Is he taking her to Prom?” Arthur asked after he'd read a few lines of his book, and he felt Eames shrug beside him.

“I don't know. You know what it's like when you're his age. Making a decision is far too difficult to manage, so you just stick to whatever seems like a good idea at the time. But he has good taste,” Eames finished, smiling at the sentiment.

“Pretty girl,” Arthur said in agreement, nodding gently. “She looked a bit like Ariadne, don't you think?”

Eames looked over at Arthur. “Now you mention it, yes, she does, a little,” he said, staring off vaguely into the distance, remembering Ariadne's face. 

Arthur ruined the moment with his next comment. “She didn't seem like the sort to get pregnant at her age.”

“You're hopeless,” Eames said, laughing softly. “Read your book and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mom,” Arthur replied, ignoring the nudge from Eames' elbow in response.


End file.
